Yang and Blake do some sparring
by Guesswhosaninja
Summary: As the title says, really. (Written prior to Episode 4 of RWBY Volume 1 being aired)


Sunlight poured through the room, flowing across the dull wooden floors as the shackles of curtains parted. The wide windows let loose the heat of the day, drawing with it a blanket of humid stickiness that made several of the studying students grimace and shift uneasily.

Most of the assorted students crowded around desks strewn with notes, already trying to study from their first few days of classes. Yang was not one of them. How they could need such masses of notes for less than two-dozen lectures, let alone why they felt the need to revise them so soon, baffled her.

Where they recoiled from the sun's harsh stare, Yang lounged beneath it, soaking in its warmth like a sleeping dog. Resting leisurely against the smooth surface of a polished banister, seated, against several specified rules, on the back of a leaning chair and dangling her feet lazily into the deep pool of warmth, she sighed, content.

However, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. Her body ached for activity. Beyond the curtains of her mind, dragons circled in the clouds outside, Hunters and Huntresses leaping between them with bursts of dust. Boredom began to set into both mind and muscle.

The whisper of pencils scurrying against paper and hushed murmurs filled the echoing space. The trees swayed repetitively in the breeze outside. She clicked her neck, stretching her arms out across the warm wood of the banister, and for a moment her eyes diverted from the bright expanse of Beacon's grounds as the woman beside her stirred irritably.

One of Ruby's new friends, Blake, looked up from her book. She glared a group of loud students into silence in an instant. Her gaze shot through them with the strength of a high caliber bullet, amber eyes shone like the afterglow of blinding muzzle-flash. Propped up against the sill of the large window, she seemed as comfortable as Yang, lounging in the shade with her book, though half as happy.

Her thin lips were pursed in an ever-present line, brows lowered as she read with indecipherable expression. The winged tips of her makeup echoed her sharp gaze like purple blades, slicing through pages as effortlessly as the Huntresses of Yang's daydream tore through almighty monsters. Though her posture was relaxed, curled into her corner like a sleeping cat, her shoulders tensed with every yell and her fingers curled against the cover of her book as though to subtly strangle the noises that filled the room.

She was a panther coiled to pounce at a moment's notice, her eyes flicking back and forth like a searching hunter.

Yang yawned, straining every inch of her body in a wriggling stretch before she jumped down from her seat. She swung the chair before her, leaning across the back as she watched, absorbed in the ramblings of her imagination. She was tired of the view. Watching this woman's body language was far more interesting than swaying trees.

Eventually, Blake looked up from her book again. Her gaze met Yang's. She gave a forced smile before returning to her reading. Yang idly kicked her chair, spinning it around and sitting on it backwards, draping her folded arms over the back and resting her chin on them.

Blake looked up again. One eyebrow rose, questioningly. "Can I… help you?" She asked, the sharpness of her stare softened by the perplexed expression.

"I'm bored." Yang said, her face dropping into a pout.

Blake blinked. She went back to her book.

Yang kicked her chair forward, swaying back and forth on the front two legs. "What's in the book?" She asked, trying again to stir a conversation.

"Words." Blake said flatly, the corner of her lips rose wryly as she spoke.

Yang drew out a dramatic sigh, pushing off the floor to sway on the hinges of her chair's back legs for a moment. Blake's eyes flicked up, then back to her book, but Yang didn't miss the glance.

"Why are you watching me?" The woman asked, lowering the book with a finger between the pages to mark her place.

Yang shrugged, giving a non-committal hum. "You're more entertaining than watching trees, I guess."

"Well could you… not?" Blake asked, raising one eyebrow quizzically at Yang's unorthodox answer.

A thought wormed through Yang's boredom and drifting mind, tugging forth a toothy grin. "Make me." She teased, leaning her chair forward.

"What?"

"Professors are always saying we should get as much sparring practice as we can, right?" Yang explained, "I'll spar you for it. You beat me in a fight, then I'll go find a TV to watch."

Blake snapped her book shut, shooting Yang with a piercing glare as she did. "Fine." She got to her feet, stuffing the book into a small bag and giving Yang's chair a kick to push her off balance. "Let's see if your fists are as fast as your tongue."

Beacon had all number of facilities across its wide expanse of ground; the array of dirt circles that acted as sparring platforms was perhaps one of the less extravagant. With the majority of new students absorbed in their notes in various study halls or classrooms, the training grounds were comparatively quiet, populated only by the occasional pair of older students.

Yang couldn't be cheerier to be outside, away from the humid stuffiness of enclosed halls filled with sweating students. Out here, the breeze felt cool against her legs and tickled across her bare midriff. The sun shone purely against her skin, unfiltered by the thick glass of the buildings.

Blake, surprisingly, didn't burst into flames in the sunlight. _Well then,_ Yang thought, _that rules out the Vampire explanation_.

In truth, despite her irritation at Yang's presence, Blake seemed to be in a decent mood in the outside air. The coattails of her vest billowed in the wind, light enough to be shifted by a gentle breeze.

"What kind of weapon do you use, anyway?" Yang asked, breaking the staunch silence of their stroll. Blake paused mid-pace, almost causing Yang to bump into her.

"You asked me to fight you and you don't even know what I fight with?" She asked, giving her one of the questioning looks that were quickly becoming her trademark. Yang shrugged, and Blake sighed. "You need to get every advantage you can before a fight." She explained. "One of the biggest advantages you can have in a fight is knowing your opponent."

"But I do know you," Yang pointed out, "I just don't know what weapon you use."

Blake raised an eyebrow, amusement touching on her lips. "Oh really? What's my name then?"

"It's Blake, dummy, what kind of test is that?"

"My full name."

"Blake uh… reads-a-lot?" Yang grinned sheepishly as Blake's point sunk in. "Well it's not like you know that much about me either." She pointed out, planting her hands on her hips with a smug grin.

Blake reached into her bag and brought out a small leather-bound notebook. She flicked through a few pages before pausing to return Yang's expression of smugness. She read aloud: "Yang Xiao Long. Weapon of choice: Dual Ranged Shot Gauntlets."

"Damn right." Yang's grin expanded as she engaged _Ember Celica_, allowing the bracelets to extend into full golden gauntlets across her forearms. "Free tickets to the gun show for the lady." She flexed her arms, giving a series of flaunting punches before she brought each fist up for a light, taunting kiss. "You should be thankful for the opportunity to see me in action." She teased, eyeing Blake closely.

Blake's eyes met hers with little amusement. Without looking back down at the book, she continued in a flat, factual tone. "Strengths: footwork, physical strength, aggressive tactics." Yang nodded along, eyes closed and twirling her index finger as though conducting an orchestra of compliments. "Weaknesses: overconfidence, flashy, ineffective at long range."

"Woah, woah, woah, now." Yang snapped. Her shoulders tensed up, hands dropping to her hips. "_Overconfident? _Listen here little miss bookworm," she poked Blake with an accusatory finger, letting the sound of her sheathing gauntlets punctuate her tirade. "There's a difference between overconfidence and knowing your own skill. And how is being _flashy_ a weakness? A fight's not just a means to an end you know, it's an _art_. There's a beauty to it, a back-and-forth, a natural flow, a _show_ if you're willing to get your nose out of a book and watch a fight for once."

Blake's jaw clenched visibly. There was a deliberate sharpness to her actions as she snapped her book shut and shoved it into her bag. She turned on her heel and strode purposefully towards the nearby ring. Yang smirked.

"So," Yang raised an eyebrow suggestively, falling in behind Blake as she began to stride off, "What else have you got about me in that little book, huh? I bet you've got pages on my dashing good looks and impeccable wit, don't you?"

Blake ignored the comment. "In answer to your original question; I wield a Variant Ballistic Chain Scythe."

"Well the joke's on you then, 'cause I've sparred with my little sis and her scythe a million times." Yang boasted, stretching her arms overhead to limber up for their fight.

"It's not the same thing, Yang."

"Sure it is." She protested. "It's a gun, it's a scythe, sounds the same to me." Blake split from walking beside her, dumping her bag on one side of the training ring and pulling out her weapon. Yang didn't need to see her face to know she was either rolling her eyes or glaring at her.

She had to admit, it didn't look much like Ruby's _Crescent Rose_, but that wasn't why she made the comparison. It was simplistic by the look of it, a gunmetal grey cleaver with a black ribbon blowing from the hilt in the wind. She reengaged her gauntlets, wrapping a cartridge of practice shells into the well of each.

"Rules?" Blake asked.

Yang lowered her head, peering across the rim of an imaginary pair of glasses. "There are no rules in the face of battle, child." She said dramatically, lowering her voice darkly in imitation the gruff voice of the Professor. She broke into a grin, "But seriously – no hair pulling."

Blake smiled, defying another of Yang's theories that it was physically impossible for her to do so. "When you're ready." She prompted, settling into a fighting stance.

Yang counted down, and leaped into battle.

She charged forward, testing Blake with a single, swift punch. Yang expected her to step to the side, slipping around her to evade the attack, but she didn't.

Blake stood her ground for the blow, slamming the flat of her blade against Yang's fist. The block caused Yang's attack to veer to the left, exposing her front to a counter-attack.

Blake's movements were textbook – no surprises there – a simple high cycle-slash. Yang shifted her weight, leaning backwards to avoid the first strike and stepping around her opponent with a standard boxing weave to avoid the second.

She was fast, as Yang expected. Her thin form indicated strength wasn't likely to have been her advantage; speed had been her suspicion. But her attacks were predictable, following the familiar forms of swordplay: cycle-slash, shearhammer, double-feign and swap.

Yang blocked with similar precision, countering each attack to gain a feel for Blake's movements. She smiled as she fought, enjoying the back-and-forth. Like a good conversation, a battle required quick thinking and engaged participants. Blake felt like she was absent. She was fighting a textbook, a list of techniques, not a woman.

Yang ducked a strike, intending to deliver a punishing uppercut to encourage Blake to shift from the comfort of practiced techniques. Her fist met nothing. The force behind her strike carried her forward and she whirled, trying to reestablish balance immediately.

Blake's cleaver slammed against one side of her chest painfully, then the other. She lashed out with a pair of kicks, trying to gain distance, but Blake weaved between them seamlessly, delivering blow after blow to the gaps in Yang's defense.

A burst from her right gauntlet ceased the assault, blowing the pair apart as the explosion pushed Blake into a defensive stance and allowed Yang to roll to a safe distance.

She smiled. This was more like it. She cocked her gauntlets, more for show than any purpose, and charged back in. She swung a fist, feigning a high punch before driving it to the ground and firing.

The shockwave blew dust into the air, and Yang with it, allowing her to flip over her opponent. She fired three quick shots with each fist as she coursed through the air, rolling again as she reached the ground and bouncing lightly on her feet. Blake deflected each blow with lithe movements, sliding her blade between each effortlessly and resting, ready to fight as the dust settled to the ground again.

_It hardly seems like a Very Ballistic Cain Scythe_, she thought, eyebrows narrowing as Blake's pursed lips parted in a smirk. She shifted in an eyeblink, sliding the weapon into two blades and throwing one directly at Yang.

Her eyes shot open in a moment of panic as she raised her guard with a yelp, deflecting the projectile sword upwards. A gunshot sounded, and she dodged to the side instinctively. Overhead, the sword whipped backwards, traveling in an arc over Blake as she swung it by the handle's ribbon.

Everything about Blake seemed else from what she expected; the ribbon, which she'd thought to be for aesthetics, turned out to be practical, her movements, at first formulaic and bland, were suddenly wild and unpredictable. She would have approved, been pleased even, if the sword hadn't suddenly fired again and whipped towards her.

She blocked the blade, but it wrapped around her fist, letting Blake pull her off balance with a tug on the ribbon. Yang's block was broken again, and Blake took the opportunity to dash forward and deliver a punch to the side of her head, grounding her.

Yang groaned, rubbing her head as she lay in the dust.

"Still think I need to get out more?" Blake asked, sliding her weapon back into a single piece.

Yang's face burst into a lively smile. She fired two shots, one into the ground, to launch her to her feet, and one to the side, spinning her to face Blake. She landed perfectly, a cyclone of dust whipping around her dramatically. "I dunno, maybe you should be in class with Ruby." She shrugged, "You're pretty sloppy so far."

Blake's knuckles whitened against the handle of her weapon as her grip tightened irritably. "I'll show you sloppy-" she began, but her eyes flicked up suddenly, as she noticed the pair of older boys watching them. Laughing.

"Something funny?" Yang asked, annoyed that they were interrupting their sparring.

"Just… admiring the show." One of them said, arrogance oozing from his tongue with every word. "Please, continue. I'd hate to miss your 'fight'." He added. His friend burst into a fit of cackling laughter, echoing the 'fight' with stupid air quotes.

Yang stepped forward, getting in the man's face – or more accurately, his collar, due to his height. "Hey, you want to go, _bro_?" She threatened. He raised his hands calmly.

"No trouble here, missy, just looking to learn."

"Yeah," his sidekick echoed, "just looking to learn, baby."

Yang blew a strand of hair away from her face, rolling her eyes at the second man. "That's cute. Does your monkey have a mind of his own, or does he just agree with everything you say?" At that, the second man's face flushed like a burning beetroot.

He reached for her shoulder to grab her, but she reacted with a battle-paced attack. She pushed his hand away, and shot him point blank in the face, blasting him into the stands behind him with enough force to split the woodwork.

The first man growled, drawing a pair of mechanical hatchets from inside his jacket. Before he could do anything, however, Blake's ribbon-wrapped blade slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground as well.

Blake appeared at her side. Yang grinned and patted her on the shoulder. "Alright, Blake! You want to teach these guys a lesson, or what?"

Blake shrugged. "It's a bit late to say no."

Ruby was barely three steps into the room when she slumped into her bed, her face planting right in the centre of her pillow with a thump.

"What's the matter, sis? You have another run in with Weiss?" Yang laughed, prodding her sister's back with a toe.

Ruby's head shifted up and down, a muffled "Mhmm." escaped the pillow.

"You explode again?" She asked. Ruby's head moved up and down again, with another muffled sound. Yang smirked, "-and I'm guessing she didn't give you a hug and some cookies?"

Ruby's head moved from side to side. "Nu-uh." She mumbled as plucked her head out from the pillow. "What happened to you?" She asked, concern shooting across her face as she looked at Yang.

"Huh? Oh, this?" She asked, pointing to her right arm, as Blake slowly wrapped her upper arm with bandages. "Just a fight."

"You got in a fight?" Ruby yelled, jumping to her feet. Her face was contorted in an effort to be angry, while her nature willed her into excitement instead, "When? Who?"

Yang grinned, teeth flashing in the light of the candles. "Oh sis you should have seen it. Me and Blake were down in the training ring like all 'phoo', 'whacha!', 'whoooauh'," She began, making silly karate-chop actions with her free hand to go along with her sound effects. "…and this dude came over and was all 'ooh, I'm sooo sophisticated, I know big words like _phalange_', and I was all like 'hey sucka, whatchu talkin' 'bout?' and then his friend tried to touch me, and I punched him into the stands and he was all 'wooooah, pschew!' and-"

"Yang, stop moving!" Blake insisted, jabbing Yang in the rub as the girl tried to rise, gesturing wildly with her story.

"Sorry." She blushed, rubbing the back of her head. "Anyway, we totally _pounded_ them. It was awesome, Ruby! Blake was all over the place, doin' flips and stuff and I was all 'bang', 'bang' 'ba-ba-bang' and they were like 'oooh nooo! Please stop hitting us ladies, we didn't mean anything by it.'"

"So how come you need bandages and Blake doesn't?" Ruby asked, interrupting her.

"Because _somebody_…" Yang's eyes narrowed slowly. "Can't keep her aim straight." Blake tugged on her bandages tightly, finishing off the binding and drawing a painful yelp from Yang.

"All done." She said, and the corner of her mouth rose ever-so-slightly.


End file.
